


Sundays with Ele's Dad

by tcwordsmith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:09:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcwordsmith/pseuds/tcwordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She does wish he'd stop bringing junk food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sundays with Ele's Dad

"And _then_ he said he could protect me. It was rather sweet, if entirely misplaced," she grins to herself as she sets her coffee cup on its saucer.

He rolls his eyes, “Hrmph. Do you know he is exactly as terrible as those boys of his? Even went so far as to evade one of my reapers. Tessa says Monroe wouldn't stop complaining for days."

Her smile grows slightly, "But, did Monroe really expect anything less than an absolute fight out of Bobby Singer? That man wouldn't know peace if it bit him on the ass."

Sighing, he nods his agreement. “I do believe he’d rather hoped it would be less trouble than it was.  Do try one of the bear claws,” he tilts his head toward the white paper bag on the coffee table, “They’re from a delightful hole in the wall bakery in Vermont. Baked fresh every morning.”

“You know I don’t need donuts, why do you insist on bringing junk food with you to these coffee dates?” She gives a token protest, but he simply watches her expectantly.  Not one to disappoint, she reaches into the bag and extracts a pastry, still warm and positively dripping with icing.

“Delightful indeed,” she sets the rest of the bear claw on the edge of her saucer and uses a napkin to wipe away the stray drop of icing on her chin.

“Isn’t it just?” He gives her an almost smile as he tucks in to his own bear claw. “You know,” he swallows before continuing, “These Sunday chats are infinitely easier since you died.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes, “You _would_ think so, Dad. I didn’t have to stay dead, you know.”

“I can’t tell the Winchesters I don’t play favorites and turn right around and play favorites right under their noses, El. It’s not the way things work,” he finishes his bear claw and sits back to sip his coffee.

“I suppose not,” she murmurs.

He glances over at her and smiles.

 


End file.
